Vasil. But it will be coming to others. Always somewhere there are people suffering, in prison, mad, tortured——
Adr. You can not help them now, Vasil. And to let sympathy destroy your power for work will rob them of the joy you may bring them hereafter. Forget them for awhile that you may come again with help, not tears, that ease your heart rather than theirs.
Vasil. No, I shall not forget—not for a minute—but I shall work and be blithe of soul, for what has the soul to do with the tearing of the heart, unless it be to show its free wings above it? If I were imprisoned, racked, dying, I should want the music to go on, I should try even then to help it, to turn my cries into a song. That is why I can sing while they suffer—because happiness is the right thing—because I am ready to suffer while they sing,—not because I forget. O, you can trust me, Adrian! And [with sudden appeal] I want to be at the meeting to-night.
Adr. [Hastily] No.
Vasil. Yes, Adrian.
Adr. You are too young.
Vasil. As old as the morning star. Do not be afraid. Whatever touches me, nothing shall touch my song.
Adr. Your song can be saved only with your life, Vasil, and this meeting is dangerous. In a few days you are going away. We will not uselessly waste your heart to-night.
Vasil. I do not want to go just now, Adrian. Let me stay here a little longer. There is so much you can teach me yet.
Adr. [Smiling] You make better music than I can dream. No, it is time to go.